beneatha: You—you are a nut. Thee is mad, boy.
walter (looking at his wife and his sister from the door, very sadly): The world’s most backward race of people, and that’s a fact.
beneatha (turning slowly in her chair): And then there are all those prophets who would lead us out of the wilderness—(Walter slams out of the house.)—into the swamps!
ruth: Bennie, why you always gotta be pickin’ on your brother? Can’t you be a little sweeter sometimes? (Door opens. Walter walks in. He fumbles with his cap, starts to speak, clears throat, looks everywhere but at Ruth. Finally:)
walter (to Ruth): I need some money for carfare.
ruth (looks at him, then warms; teasing, but tenderly): Fifty cents? (She goes to her bag and gets money.) Here—take a taxi!
Walter exits. Mama enters. She is a woman in her early sixties, full-bodied and strong. She is one of those women of a certain grace and beauty who wear it so unobtrusively that it takes a while to notice. Her dark-brown face is surrounded by the total whiteness of her hair, and, being a woman who has adjusted to many things in life and overcome many more, her face is full of strength. She has, we can see, wit and faith of a kind that keep her eyes lit and full of interest and expectancy. She is, in a word, a beautiful woman. Her bearing is perhaps most like the noble bearing of the women of the Hereros of Southwest Africa—rather as if she imagines that as she walks she still bears a basket or a vessel upon her head. Her speech, on the other hand, is as careless as her carriage is precise—she is inclined to slur everything—but her voice is perhaps not so much quiet as simply soft.
mama: Who that ’round here slamming doors at this hour?
She crosses through the room, goes to the window, opens it, and brings in a feeble little plant growing doggedly in a small pot on the window sill. She feels the dirt and puts it back out.
ruth: That was Walter Lee. He and Bennie was at it again.
mama: My children and they tempers. Lord, if this little old plant don’t get more sun than it’s been getting it ain’t never going to see spring again. (She turns from the window.) What’s the matter with you this morning, Ruth? You looks right peaked. You aiming to iron all them things? Leave some for me. I’ll get to ’em this afternoon. Bennie honey, it’s too drafty for you to be sitting ’round half dressed. Where’s your robe?
beneatha: In the cleaners.
mama: Well, go get mine and put it on.
beneatha: I’m not cold, Mama, honest.
mama: I know—but you so thin...
beneatha (irritably): Mama, I’m not cold.
mama (seeing the make-down bed as Travis has left it): Lord have mercy, look at that poor bed. Bless his heart—he tries, don’t he?
She moves to the bed Travis has sloppily made up.
ruth: No—he don’t half try at all ’cause he knows you going to come along behind him and fix everything. That’s just how come he don’t know how to do nothing right now—you done spoiled that boy so.
mama (folding bedding): Well—he’s a little boy. Ain’t supposed to know ’bout housekeeping. My baby, that’s what he is. What you fix for his breakfast this morning?
ruth (angrily): I feed my son, Lena!
mama: I ain’t meddling—(Under breath; busy-bodyish.) I just noticed all last week he had cold cereal, and when it starts getting this chilly in the fall a child ought to have some hot grits or something when he goes out in the cold—
ruth (furious): I gave him hot oats—is that all right!
mama: I ain’t meddling. (Pause.) Put a lot of nice butter on it? (Ruth shoots her an angry look and does not reply.) He likes lots of butter.
ruth (exasperated): Lena—
mama (to Beneatha. Mama is inclined to wander conversationally sometimes): What was you and your brother fussing ’bout this morning?
beneatha: It’s not important, Mama.
She gets up and goes to look out at the bathroom, which is apparently free, and she picks up her towels and rushes out.
mama: What was they fighting about?
ruth: Now you know as well as I do.
mama (shaking her head): Brother still worrying hisself sick about that money?
ruth: You know he is.
mama: You had breakfast?
ruth: Some coffee.
mama: Girl, you better start eating and looking after yourself better. You almost thin as Travis.
ruth: Lena—
mama: Un-hunh?
ruth: What are you going to do with it?
mama: Now don’t you start, child. It’s too early in the morning to be talking about money. It ain’t Christian.
ruth: It’s just that he got his heart set on that store—
mama: You mean that liquor store that Willy Harris want him to invest in?
ruth: Yes—
mama: We ain’t no business people, Ruth. We just plain working folks.
ruth: Ain’t nobody business people till they go into business. Walter Lee say colored people ain’t never going to start getting ahead till they start gambling on some different kinds of things in the world—investments and things.
mama: What done got into you, girl? Walter Lee done finally sold you on investing.
ruth: No. Mama, something is happening between Walter and me. I don’t know what it is—but he needs something—something I can’t give him any more. He needs this chance, Lena.
mama (frowning deeply): But liquor, honey—
ruth: Well—like Walter say—I spec people going to always be drinking themselves some liquor.
mama: Well—whether they drinks it or not ain’t none of my business. But whether I go into business selling it to ’em is, and I don’t want that on my ledger this late in life. (Stopping suddenly and studying her daughter-in-law.) Ruth Younger, what’s the matter with you today? You look like you could fall over right there.
ruth: I’m tired.
mama: Then you better stay home from work today.
ruth: I can’t stay home. She’d be calling up the agency and screaming at them, “My girl didn’t come in today—send me somebody! My girl didn’t come in!” Oh, she just have a fit...
mama: Well, let her have it. I’ll just call her up and say you got the flu—
ruth (laughing): Why the flu?
mama: ’Cause it sounds respectable to ’em. Something white people get, too. They know ’bout the flu. Otherwise they think you been cut up or something when you tell ’em you sick.
ruth: I got to go in. We need the money.
mama: Somebody would of thought my children done all but starved to death the way they talk about money here late. Child, we got a great big old check coming tomorrow.
ruth (sincerely, but also self-righteously): Now that’s your money. It ain’t got nothing to do with me. We all feel like that—Walter and Bennie and me—even Travis.
mama (thoughtfully, and suddenly very far away): Ten thousand dollars—
ruth: Sure is wonderful.
mama: Ten thousand dollars.
ruth: You know what you should do, Miss Lena? You should take yourself a trip somewhere. To Europe or South America or someplace—
mama (throwing up her hands at the thought): Oh, child!
ruth: I’m serious. Just pack up and leave! Go on away and enjoy yourself some. Forget about the family and have yourself a ball for once in your life—
mama (drily): You sound like I’m just about ready to die. Who’d go with me? What I look like wandering ’round Europe by myself?
ruth: Shoot—these here rich white women do it all the time. They don’t think nothing of packing up they suitcases and piling on one of them big steamships and—swoosh!—they gone, child.
mama: Something always told me I wasn’t no rich white woman.
ruth: Well—what are you going to do with it then?
mama: I ain’t rightly decided. (Thinking. She speaks now with emphasis.) Some of it got to be put away for Beneatha and her schoolin’—and ain’t nothing going to touch that part of it. Nothing. (She waits several seconds, trying to make up her mind about something, and looks at Ruth a little tentatively before going on.) Been thinking that we maybe could meet the notes on a little old two-story somewhere, with a yard where Travis could play in the summertime, if we use part of the insurance for a down payment and everybody kind of pitch in. I could maybe take on a little day work again, few days a week—
ruth (studying her mother-in-law furtively and concentrating on her ironing, anxious to encourage without seeming to): Well, Lord knows, we’ve put enough rent into this here rat trap to pay for four houses by now...
mama (looking up at the words “rat trap” and then looking around and leaning back and sighing—in a suddenly reflective mood—): “Rat trap”—yes, that’s all it is. (Smiling.) I remember just as well the day me and Big Walter moved in here. Hadn’t been married but two weeks and wasn’t planning on living here no more than a year. (She shakes her head at the dissolved dream.) We was going to set away, little by little, don’t you know, and buy a little place out in Morgan Park. We had even picked out the house. (Chuckling a little.) Looks right dumpy today. But Lord, child, you should know all the dreams I had ’bout buying that house and fixing it up and making me a little garden in the back—(She waits and stops smiling.) And didn’t none of it happen.
Dropping her hands in a futile gesture.
ruth (keeps her head down, ironing): Yes, life can be a barrel of disappointments, sometimes.
mama: Honey, Big Walter would come in here some nights back then and slump down on that couch there and just look at the rug, and look at me and look at the rug and then back at me—and I’d know he was down then... really down. (After a second very long and thoughtful pause; she is seeing back to times that only she can see.) And then, Lord, when I lost that baby—little Claude—I almost thought I was going to lose Big Walter too. Oh, that man grieved hisself! He was one man to love his children.
ruth: Ain’t nothin’ can tear at you like losin’ your baby.
mama: I guess that’s how come that man finally worked hisself to death like he done. Like he was fighting his own war with this here world that took his baby from him.
ruth: He sure was a fine man, all right. I always liked Mr. Younger.
mama: Crazy ’bout his children! God knows there was plenty wrong with Walter Younger—hard-headed, mean, kind of wild with women—plenty wrong with him. But he sure loved his children. Always wanted them to have something—be something. That’s where Brother gets all these notions, I reckon. Big Walter used to say, he’d get right wet in the eyes sometimes, lean his head back with the water standing in his eyes and say, “Seem like God didn’t see fit to give the black man nothing but dreams—but He did give us children to make them dreams seem worthwhile.” (She smiles.) He could talk like that, don’t you know.
ruth: Yes, he sure could. He was a good man, Mr. Younger.
mama: Yes, a fine man—just couldn’t never catch up with his dreams, that’s all.
Beneatha comes in, brushing her hair and looking up to the ceiling, where the sound of a vacuum cleaner has started up.
beneatha: What could be so dirty on that woman’s rugs that she has to vacuum them every single day?
ruth: I wish certain young women ’round here who I could name would take inspiration about certain rugs in a certain apartment I could also mention.
beneatha (shrugging): How much cleaning can a house need, for Christ’s sakes.
mama (not liking the Lord’s name used thus): Bennie!
ruth: Just listen to her—just listen!
beneatha: Oh, God!
mama: If you use the Lord’s name just one more time—
beneatha (a bit of a whine): Oh, Mama—
ruth: Fresh—just fresh as salt, this girl!
beneatha (drily): Well—if the salt loses its savor—
mama: Now that will do. I just ain’t going to have you ’round here reciting the scriptures in vain—you hear me?
beneatha: How did I manage to get on everybody’s wrong side by just walking into a room?
ruth: If you weren’t so fresh—
beneatha: Ruth, I’m twenty years old.
mama: What time you be home from school today?
beneatha: Kind of late. (With enthusiasm.) Madeline is going to start my guitar lessons today.
Mama and Ruth look up with the same expression.
mama: Your what kind of lessons?
beneatha: Guitar.
ruth: Oh, Father!
mama: How come you done taken it in your mind to learn to play the guitar?
beneatha: I just want to, that’s all.
mama (smiling): Lord, child, don’t you know what to do with yourself? How long it going to be before you get tired of this now—like you got tired of that little play-acting group you joined last year? (Looking at Ruth.) And what was it the year before that?
ruth: The horseback-riding club for which she bought that fifty-five-dollar riding habit that’s been hanging in the closet ever since!
mama (to Beneatha): Why you got to flit so from one thing to another, baby?
beneatha (sharply): I just want to learn to play the guitar. Is there anything wrong with that?
mama: Ain’t nobody trying to stop you. I just wonders sometimes why you has to flit so from one thing to another all the time. You ain’t never done nothing with all that camera equipment you brought home—
beneatha: I don’t flit! I—I experiment with different forms of expression—
ruth: Like riding a horse?
beneatha: —People have to express themselves one way or another.
mama: What is it you want to express?
beneatha (angrily): Me! (Mama and Ruth look at each other and burst into raucous laughter.) Don’t worry—I don’t expect you to understand.
mama (to change the subject): Who you going out with tomorrow night?
beneatha (with displeasure): George Murchison again.
mama (pleased): Oh—you getting a little sweet on him?
ruth: You ask me, this child ain’t sweet on nobody but herself—(Under breath.) Express herself!
They laugh.
beneatha: Oh—I like George all right, Mama. I mean I like him enough to go out with him and stuff, but—
ruth (for devilment): What does and stuff mean?
beneatha: Mind your own business.
mama: Stop picking at her now, Ruth. (She chuckles—then a suspicious sudden look at her daughter as she turns in her chair for emphasis.) What DOES it mean?
beneatha (wearily): Oh, I just mean I couldn’t ever really be serious about George. He’s—he’s so shallow.
ruth: Shallow—what do you mean he’s shallow? He’s Rich!
mama: Hush, Ruth.
beneatha: I know he’s rich. He knows he’s rich, too.
ruth: Well—what other qualities a man got to have to satisfy you, little girl?
beneatha: You wouldn’t even begin to understand. Anybody who married Walter could not possibly understand.
mama (outraged): What kind of way is that to talk about your brother?
beneatha: Brother is a flip—let’s face it.
mama (to Ruth, helplessly): What’s a flip?
ruth (glad to add kindling): She’s saying he’s crazy.
beneatha: Not crazy. Brother isn’t really crazy yet—he—he’s an elaborate neurotic.
mama: Hush your mouth!
beneatha: As for George. Well. George looks good—he’s got a beautiful car and he takes me to nice places and, as my sister-in-law says, he is probably the richest boy I will ever get to know and I even like him sometimes—but if the Youngers are sitting around waiting to see if their little Bennie is going to tie up the family with the Murchisons, they are wasting their time.
ruth: You mean you wouldn’t marry George Murchison if he asked you someday? That pretty, rich thing? Honey, I knew you was odd—
beneatha: No I would not marry him if all I felt for him was what I feel now. Besides, George’s family wouldn’t really like it.
mama: Why not?
beneatha: Oh, Mama—The Murchisons are honest-to-God-real-live-rich colored people, and the only people in the world who are more snobbish than rich white people are rich colored people. I thought everybody knew that. I’ve met Mrs. Murchison. She’s a scene!
mama: You must not dislike people ’cause they well off, honey.
beneatha: Why not? It makes just as much sense as disliking people ’cause they are poor, and lots of people do that.
ruth (a wisdom-of-the-ages manner. To Mama): Well, she’ll get over some of this—
beneatha: Get over it? What are you talking about, Ruth? Listen, I’m going to be a doctor. I’m not worried about who I’m going to marry yet—if I ever get married.
mama and ruth: If!
mama: Now, Bennie—
beneatha: Oh, I probably will...but first I’m going to be a doctor, and George, for one, still thinks that’s pretty funny. I couldn’t be bothered with that. I am going to be a doctor and everybody around here better understand that!
mama (kindly): ’Course you going to be a doctor, honey, God willing.
beneatha (drily): God hasn’t got a thing to do with it.
mama: Beneatha—that just wasn’t necessary.
beneatha: Well—neither is God. I get sick of hearing about God.
mama: Beneatha!
beneatha: I mean it! I’m just tired of hearing about God all the time. What has He got to do with anything? Does He pay tuition?
mama: You ’bout to get your fresh little jaw slapped!
ruth: That’s just what she needs, all right!
beneatha: Why? Why can’t I say what I want to around here, like everybody else?
mama: It don’t sound nice for a young girl to say things like that—you wasn’t brought up that way. Me and your father went to trouble to get you and Brother to church every Sunday.
beneatha: Mama, you don’t understand. It’s all a matter of ideas, and God is just one idea I don’t accept. It’s not important. I am not going out and be immoral or commit crimes because I don’t believe in God. I don’t even think about it. It’s just that I get tired of Him getting credit for all the things the human race achieves through its own stubborn effort. There simply is no blasted God—there is only man and it is He who makes miracles!
Mama absorbs this speech, studies her daughter, and rises slowly and crosses to Beneatha and slaps her powerfully across the face. After, there is only silence and the daughter drops her eyes from her mother’s face, and Mama is very tall before her.
mama: Now—you say after me, in my mother’s house there is still God. (There is a long pause and Beneatha stares at the floor wordlessly. Mama repeats the phrase with precision and cool emotion.) In my mother’s house there is still God.
beneatha: In my mother’s house there is still God.
A long pause.
mama (walking away from Beneatha, too disturbed for triumphant posture. Stopping and turning back to her daughter): There are some ideas we ain’t going to have in this house. Not long as I am at the head of this family.
beneatha: Yes, ma’am.
Mama walks out of the room.
ruth (almost gently, with profound understanding): You think you a woman, Bennie—but you still a little girl. What you did was childish—so you got treated like a child.
beneatha: I see. (Quietly.) I also see that everybody thinks it’s all right for Mama to be a tyrant. But all the tyranny in the world will never put a God in the heavens!
She picks up her books and goes out. Pause.
ruth (goes to Mama’s door): She said she was sorry.
mama (coming out, going to her plant): They frightens me, Ruth. My children.
ruth: You got good children, Lena. They just a little off sometimes—but they’re good.
mama: No—there’s something come down between me and them that don’t let us understand each other and I don’t know what it is. One done almost lost his mind thinking ’bout money all the time and the other done commence to talk about things I can’t seem to understand in no form or fashion. What is it that’s changing, Ruth.
ruth (soothingly, older than her years): Now...you taking it all too seriously. You just got strong-willed children and it takes a strong woman like you to keep ’em in hand.
mama (looking at her plant and sprinkling a little water on it): They spirited all right, my children. Got to admit they got spirit—Bennie and Walter. Like this little old plant that ain’t never had enough sunshine or nothing—and look at it...
She has her back to Ruth, who has had to stop ironing and lean against something and put the back of her hand to her forehead.
ruth (trying to keep Mama from noticing): You...sure...loves that little old thing, don’t you?...
mama: Well, I always wanted me a garden like I used to see sometimes at the back of the houses down home. This plant is close as I ever got to having one. (She looks out of the window as she replaces the plant.) Lord, ain’t nothing as dreary as the view from this window on a dreary day, is there? Why ain’t you singing this morning, Ruth? Sing that “No Ways Tired.” That song always lifts me up so—(She turns at last to see that Ruth has slipped quietly to the floor, in a state of semiconsciousness.) Ruth! Ruth honey—what’s the matter with you... Ruth!
Curtain.
SCENE II: [The following morning.]
It is the following morning; a Saturday morning, and house cleaning is in progress at the Youngers’. Furniture has been shoved hither and yon and Mama is giving the kitchen-area walls a washing down. Beneatha, in dungarees, with a handkerchief tied around her face, is spraying insecticide into the cracks in the walls. As they work, the radio is on and a Southside disk-jockey program is inappropriately filling the house with a rather exotic saxophone blues. Travis, the sole idle one, is leaning on his arms, looking out of the window.
travis: Grandmama, that stuff Bennie is using smells awful. Can I go downstairs, please?
mama: Did you get all them chores done already? I ain’t seen you doing much.
travis: Yes’m—finished early. Where did Mama go this morning?
mama (looking at Beneatha): She had to go on a little errand.
The phone rings. Beneatha runs to answer it and reaches it before Walter, who has entered from bedroom.
travis: Where?
mama: To tend to her business.
beneatha: Haylo... (Disappointed.) Yes, he is. (She tosses the phone to Walter, who barely catches it.) It’s Willy Harris again.
walter (as privately as possible under Mama’s gaze): Hello, Willy. Did you get the papers from the lawyer?... No, not yet. I told you the mailman doesn’t get here till ten-thirty... No, I’ll come there... Yeah! Right away. (He hangs up and goes for his coat.)
beneatha: Brother, where did Ruth go?
walter (as he exits): How should I know!
travis: Aw come on, Grandma. Can I go outside?
mama: Oh, I guess so. You stay right in front of the house, though, and keep a good lookout for the postman.
travis: Yes’m. (He darts into bedroom for stickball and bat, reenters, and sees Beneatha on her knees spraying under sofa with behind upraised. He edges closer to the target, takes aim, and lets her have it. She screams.) Leave them poor little cockroaches alone, they ain’t bothering you none! (He runs as she swings the spraygun at him viciously and playfully.) Grandma! Grandma!
mama: Look out there, girl, before you be spilling some of that stuff on that child!
travis (safely behind the bastion of Mama): That’s right—look out, now! (He exits.)
beneatha (drily): I can’t imagine that it would hurt him—it has never hurt the roaches.
mama: Well, little boys’ hides ain’t as tough as Southside roaches. You better get over there behind the bureau. I seen one marching out of there like Napoleon yesterday.
beneatha: There’s really only one way to get rid of them, Mama—
mama: How?
beneatha: Set fire to this building! Mama, where did Ruth go?
mama (looking at her with meaning): To the doctor, I think.
beneatha: The doctor? What’s the matter? (They exchange glances.) You don’t think—
mama (with her sense of drama): Now I ain’t saying what I think. But I ain’t never been wrong ’bout a woman neither.
The phone rings.
beneatha (at the phone): Hay-lo... (Pause, and a moment of recognition.) Well—when did you get back!... And how was it?... Of course I’ve missed you—in my way... This morning? No...house cleaning and all that and Mama hates it if I let people come over when the house is like this... You have? Well, that’s different... What is it—Oh, what the hell, come on over... Right, see you then. Arrividerci.
She hangs up.
mama (who has listened vigorously, as is her habit): Who is that you inviting over here with this house looking like this? You ain’t got the pride you was born with!
beneatha: Asagai doesn’t care how houses look, Mama—he’s an intellectual.
mama: Who?
beneatha: Asagai—Joseph Asagai. He’s an African boy I met on campus. He’s been studying in Canada all summer.
mama: What’s his name?
beneatha: Asagai, Joseph. Ah-sah-guy... He’s from Nigeria.
mama: Oh, that’s the little country that was founded by slaves way back...
beneatha: No, Mama—that’s Liberia.
mama: I don’t think I never met no African before.
beneatha: Well, do me a favor and don’t ask him a whole lot of ignorant questions about Africans. I mean, do they wear clothes and all that—
mama: Well, now, I guess if you think we so ignorant ’round here maybe you shouldn’t bring your friends here—
beneatha: It’s just that people ask such crazy things. All anyone seems to know about when it comes to Africa is Tarzan—
mama (indignantly): Why should I know anything about Africa?
beneatha: Why do you give money at church for the missionary work?
mama: Well, that’s to help save people.
beneatha: You mean save them from heathenism—
mama (innocently): Yes.
beneatha: I’m afraid they need more salvation from the British and the French.
Ruth comes in forlornly and pulls off her coat with dejection. They both turn to look at her.
ruth (dispiritedly): Well, I guess from all the happy faces—everybody knows.
beneatha: You pregnant?
mama: Lord have mercy, I sure hope it’s a little old girl. Travis ought to have a sister.
Beneatha and Ruth give her a hopeless look for this grandmotherly enthusiasm.
beneatha: How far along are you?
ruth: Two months.
beneatha: Did you mean to? I mean did you plan it or was it an accident?
mama: What do you know about planning or not planning?
beneatha: Oh, Mama.
ruth (wearily): She’s twenty years old, Lena.
beneatha: Did you plan it, Ruth?
ruth: Mind your own business.
beneatha: It is my business—where is he going to live, on the roof? (There is silence following the remark as the three women react to the sense of it.) Gee—I didn’t mean that, Ruth, honest. Gee, I don’t feel like that at all. I—I think it is wonderful.
ruth (dully): Wonderful.
beneatha: Yes—really.
mama (looking at Ruth, worried): Doctor say everything going to be all right?
ruth (far away): Yes—she says everything is going to be fine...
mama (immediately suspicious): “She”—What doctor you went to?
Ruth folds over, near hysteria.
mama (worriedly hovering over Ruth): Ruth honey—what’s the matter with you—you sick?
Ruth has her fists clenched on her thighs and is fighting hard to suppress a scream that seems to be rising in her.
beneatha: What’s the matter with her, Mama?
mama (working her fingers in Ruth’s shoulders to relax her): She be all right. Women gets right depressed sometimes when they get her way. (Speaking softly, expertly, rapidly.) Now you just relax. That’s right...just lean back, don’t think ’bout nothing at all...nothing at all—
ruth: I’m all right...
The glassy-eyed look melts and then she collapses into a fit of heavy sobbing. The bell rings.
beneatha: Oh, my God—that must be Asagai.
mama (to Ruth): Come on now, honey. You need to lie down and rest awhile...then have some nice hot food.
They exit, Ruth’s weight on her mother-in-law. Beneatha, herself profoundly disturbed, opens the door to admit a rather dramatic-looking young man with a large package.
asagai: Hello, Alaiyo—
beneatha (holding the door open and regarding him with pleasure): Hello... (Long pause.) Well—come in. And please excuse everything. My mother was very upset about my letting anyone come here with the place like this.
asagai (coming into the room): You look disturbed too... Is something wrong?
beneatha (still at the door, absently): Yes...we’ve all got acute ghetto-itus. (She smiles and comes toward him, finding a cigarette and sitting.) So—sit down! No! Wait! (She whips the spraygun off sofa where she had left it and puts the cushions back. At last perches on arm of sofa. He sits.) So, how was Canada?
asagai (a sophisticate): Canadian.
beneatha (looking at him): Asagai, I’m very glad you are back.
asagai (looking back at her in turn): Are you really?
beneatha: Yes—very.
asagai: Why?—you were quite glad when I went away. What happened?
beneatha: You went away.
asagai: Ahhhhhhhh.
beneatha: Before—you wanted to be so serious before there was time.
Дата добавления: 2015-11-04; просмотров: 36 | Нарушение авторских прав
| <== предыдущая лекция | | | следующая лекция ==> |